My brother had a girlfriend. Always talked about her tits like they proved he had life figured out. He acted straight like it was in his bones. Confident, laid-back, always the loudest laugh in the room. Twenty-six, worked construction, drove a truck that rattled the windows, never missed a gym day. He was that kind of guy. The kind you figured out in five seconds. At least I thought so.

I’m twenty-three. I work retail. Mostly backroom stuff. Too many shifts, busted scanners, managers that can’t plan for shit. We don’t really live the same kind of life anymore, but we still hang out here and there. Grab beers, bitch about work, throw jabs like we used to. He’ll call me soft if I don’t order something strong. I’ll make fun of the way he eats wings like he’s angry at them. It’s easy. It still works.

That night we were at our usual spot. He ordered wings, I rolled my eyes. We had a couple drinks, nothing heavy. Around one, he tapped my glass with his and said, “I’m callin’ it. I’m beat, eh.”

I stayed for one more beer.

The house was dark when I got home. Still. Kinda heavy. Just me and my brother that weekend. Our folks were away, and I figured he was already out cold. I didn’t even flip a light. I knew the place like muscle memory.

I was heading to the guest room when I heard something. Soft creaking. Breathing. Wet sounds. Then a low moan. I froze for half a second, then crept forward, heartbeat crawling up my throat. My brother’s bedroom door was cracked open just enough. I should’ve kept going. I didn’t.

He was naked. Standing right at the edge of the bed. His skin was slick, lit just barely from the hallway light behind me. I saw the tension in his shoulders, the flex in his back. Bent over in front of him was another guy. One foot up on the bed, ass angled high, taking it. My brother’s cock was buried inside him, slow and steady. Heavy strokes, deep and controlled. The slap of skin filled the room in a rhythm. Wet. Focused.

And I just... stopped. My brain tried to make sense of it.

This was my brother. The one with the girlfriend. The one who never shut up about tits and beer and sports. He acted so damn straight it was a punchline. And here he was, fucking a guy like he’d done it a hundred times. Like it was no big deal. No nerves. No shame. Just fucking. Like it fit him.

The guy moaned again, all breathy and wrecked. My brother shifted his grip, dug his fingers into the guy’s sides, and pushed in deeper. His jaw was tight. His eyes were locked down where their bodies met. There wasn’t a single part of him that looked confused.

And I just stood there, not breathing, barely blinking. Watching. Not even thinking about what the hell I was supposed to do. Just watching.

Something twisted in my stomach when I realized what I was seeing. My brain lagged behind my eyes, like it couldn’t quite process it fast enough. That was my brother. His naked back, the way his muscles tensed with every thrust, the slap of skin that echoed soft and steady. He was fucking a guy. There was no mistaking it. No maybe, no halfway.

He had a girlfriend. He always talked about tits like they were religion. He made fun of rom-coms. Said guys who cried at movies needed to “get a grip.” So what the fuck was I looking at?

I should’ve been grossed out. Or at least shocked. Something. But instead, my throat was dry, my heart was racing, and I couldn’t stop staring. My brother’s body, slick with sweat, was moving with such calm rhythm, like this wasn’t new to him at all. He owned the guy bent over in front of him. One foot on the mattress, ass raised, taking my brother’s cock slow and deep, again and again. I could hear every wet slap, see every clench of that stretched hole, raw and swollen. My brother’s cock glistened in the dim light.

And fuck me, I was getting hard.

I didn’t want to be. I told myself to move, to walk away. But my hand slid down anyway, pressing into my jeans. My cock throbbed, already leaking. The heat was spreading faster than I could control it. Every part of me lit up with something dark and electric, something I didn’t know I had in me.

“Fuck, yeah,” my brother growled, his voice low and steady, like he didn’t even care who heard. His hands gripped the guy’s hips tighter.

“More... please...” the guy whimpered, voice high and wrecked.

My brother leaned in, grabbed a fistful of the guy’s hair, and yanked his head back. “You like your hole filled with my cock?” he muttered, rough and full of heat.

“Yes,” the guy moaned, breath shaking. “God, yes.”

My brother spat on his ass and slammed back in, full force. The wet slap echoed. The guy gasped, fingers clawing into the mattress.

I was grinding now, barely even aware of it. My hand rubbed against my cock through the fabric, and I could feel how soaked I was. Precum clung to my skin under the denim, hot and sticky. Every time I tried to breathe, it came out ragged.

“Say it,” my brother whispered. “Say who’s fucking you.”

“You are,” the guy choked out. “You’re fucking me... your cock feels so fucking good...”

“Yeah, it does,” my brother said, a grin in his voice. “Next time, I want you on your knees first. Drooling all over it before I wreck you.”

My whole body clenched at that. The words, the sound of them, the confidence. I bit down hard on the inside of my cheek, trying to stay quiet. But it was too late. I was hard. I was wet. I was completely fucking gone.

And I couldn’t stop watching.

I nearly moaned out loud. My brother was pounding him now, harder, faster. His thighs flexed with each thrust, sweat rolling down his back. He gripped the guy’s hips like he owned him. The man’s hole was stretched and red, swallowing every inch, slick and pulsing. It was brutal, filthy, mesmerizing.

I bit my lip and stared, frozen. My breath came shallow through my nose, trying not to make a sound. My palm was pressed to my jeans, and I realized I was grinding into it, slow, desperate. My cock was rock hard, throbbing, wet with precum. I didn’t even notice when I started moving. I wasn’t really touching myself, not properly, but it was enough.

The rhythm of their bodies, the wet slap of skin, the deep groans—every sound made my gut twist tighter. I couldn’t look away from the way my brother fucked him. Like he’d done it a hundred times. Like he was made for it.

And I came.

My whole body locked up. Cum flooded my underwear, hot and thick. I clenched my jaw, legs trembling. My vision blurred, heart pounding so hard I thought it might shake the walls. I kept still, breathing shallow, jeans soaked and cock still twitching beneath my hand.

Inside the room, I heard it. My brother’s breathing changed. It got rougher, uneven.

“Fuck, I’m close,” he panted. “Take it... fuck, take it.”

One more thrust and he slammed in deep, holding there. His back arched, fingers digging into the guy’s hips. His head tipped back. He grunted once, then again, louder, as he came. I watched the tremor run through him, hips locked, chest heaving. His whole body gave in.

The guy moaned beneath him, still shaking. Their skin was slick, pressed close. For a few seconds, everything stilled. Only their breaths filled the room.

I backed away from the door, quiet, slow. My jeans clung to me, heavy with cum. My legs felt weirdly light, like I’d float or fall. My heart wouldn’t calm down.

He never saw me. He still doesn’t know I was there.

But every night since, I’ve closed my eyes and heard his voice again. The way he growled. The way he came. It echoes in my head, over and over. And I don’t know if I want it to stop. I tried to jerk off to other things. Old videos, random clips. Nothing worked. My hand moved but my mind was elsewhere. Always back behind that door.

But every night since, I’ve closed my eyes and heard his voice again. The way he growled. The way he came. It echoes in my head, over and over. I tried to jerk off to other things. Old videos, random clips. Nothing worked. My hand moved but my mind was elsewhere. Always back behind that door.

And I don’t know if I want it to stop.

Two days later, I was still thinking about it…

Still hard at night, still hearing those sounds. I couldn’t stop myself. I opened Grindr, just to look. And there he was.

I knew the face right away. The curve of his lip. That same heavy-lidded look. I couldn’t forget the way he’d looked, bent over like that, taking it. His mouth open, drooling into a pillow while my brother pounded him from behind. I remembered the moans. The stretch. How he swallowed every drop.

He used a fake name, but the lips were the same. The curve of his ass. The shape of his shoulders. No mistaking it.

He messaged first. “Hey. You free tonight?”

I was.

Twenty minutes later, he stood at my door, hoodie half-zipped, eyes trailing over me slow, deliberate. Hungry.

I didn’t answer. I just let him in.

A moment later, he was on his knees in front of me, tongue out, lips parted. He looked maybe twenty-two. Lean body, soft chest, messy hair. His mouth had that same needy look I remembered, like it was made to be used.

I pushed my cock to his lips.

“Use your tongue,” I told him.

He moaned and traced it around the head, then took me deeper, letting his throat open. I could smell his sweat, musky and raw, and I swear there was something else there too. Something familiar. I wondered if he hadn’t even showered since.

He gripped my thighs for balance, spit already dripping from his chin. I placed my hand on the back of his head and held him there, thrusting slowly.

“You suck like someone who’s had practice,” I said with a smirk.

He groaned, his mouth stuffed. His eyes were watering, but he didn’t stop. His nose pressed to my pelvis. He gagged once, adjusted, and kept going. My cock twitched in his throat.

I let him work for a while, then pulled out. He gasped for air, strings of spit still clinging to his lips.

“Tongue out,” I ordered.

He obeyed. I stroked myself slowly in front of him. His eyes were locked on mine. His hand found his own cock, already hard, already leaking.

“Keep sucking,” I said.

He took me back into his mouth, slower now, messier. With one hand on his cock, he started jerking himself in rhythm, tight grip, thumb over the head. His knuckles brushed my shin. I looked down and watched his lips stretch around me. His cheeks hollowed out each time I thrust.

I could feel my hips twitching. Watching him suck me off, seeing him stroke his cock while gagging on mine, knowing this was the same mouth my brother came in just two nights ago, pushed me right to the edge. I could still see it so clearly – him bent over, drooling, moaning, getting wrecked. And now here he was, swallowing for me.

My cock throbbed harder at the thought.

“You’re gonna make me cum,” I warned.

He moaned around my cock. His fist pumped faster, whole body drawn tight like he couldn’t hold anything in. I felt it in the way his throat clenched around me.

“Good boy,” I muttered. “You’re gonna wear my load.”

His eyes fluttered shut. I grabbed a fistful of his hair, steadying myself as I pushed deeper.

“Now take it,” I growled.

I came hard. First spurt hit his tongue, then another streaked his lips, followed by one across his cheek. I didn’t pull away. I rubbed the head of my cock over his skin, painting him with it, thick and slow. My cum spread across his face like it belonged there.

He let out a choked sound, deep and raw. His fist flew over his own cock. I saw the way his abs flexed, how his thighs shook. And then he came. Right there on his knees. His cock jumped in his grip, shooting across his belly and chest, hot and messy. A thick line hit his chin, blending into mine. He shuddered hard, panting as the last spurts spilled over his fingers.

I held him in place, my cock still twitching against his tongue. His lips trembled around the shaft. I watched him come undone like he was built for it.

The room was thick with heat and sweat. I stayed where I was, breathing through the haze. When I stepped to the side, just slightly, the mirror caught both of us. And fuck. His face was wrecked. Cum in his lashes, on his lips, dripping down his neck. He looked like he’d been ruined, and the sight of him like that did something sharp to me.

I stared at the slick mess I’d left across his cheeks, and that’s when it hit. That flash from two nights ago. Him on all fours, moaning into a pillow while my brother used him. The same mouth. The same body. The same wrecked look. I remembered the way his lips had hung open, glazed in sweat, and how my brother had grabbed his hips, pulling him in deeper. Now here he was again, moaning for me.

I shouldn’t have gotten hard again. But I did.

I dropped to my knees. Grabbed his sticky face in both hands and kissed him. Our mouths slid together, wet and salty, smeared with both our loads. I licked a line of cum from his cheek and tasted myself on his tongue. His lips were soft, swollen, hot from sucking.

I kissed him again. Slower this time. Letting it sit. Letting it linger.

I looked at him. Chest still rising and falling. The air between us was thick, hot, slick with sweat and cum.

“You taste even better knowing what I saw,” I said softly. “Watching my brother fuck you.”

He blinked. His whole face shifted like his brain was trying to catch up. Then his mouth opened just a bit, lips still sticky with my load.

“Wait… what?” he said, staring hard. Then again, slower, more shaken, “You’re his little brother?”

I nodded. Slow. Deliberate. Let it sit. Let him feel it.

He leaned back on his heels, eyes wide, cheeks flushed. For a second, he didn’t say anything. Then he gave a soft, nervous laugh and rubbed a hand across his cum-slick chest like he’d just remembered he was a mess.

“Fuck… that’s…” he began, shaking his head while smiling through the heat on his skin. “That’s kinda fucked up.”

“But hot?” I asked, cock still half-hard, glistening in the room’s fading light.

He bit his lip. Looked up at me through half-lidded eyes. “Yeah,” he murmured. “Weirdly fucking hot.”

He glanced down at himself, cum drying on his belly and chin, then back up at me with a crooked grin. “Shit,” the Grindr guy said. “Guess it runs in the family.”

We didn’t say anything after that. Just caught our breath. Let it settle. The air was thick with everything unspoken. I watched him wipe my cum off his face, then lick a bit off his thumb like it was nothing. Like I hadn’t just told him who I was. Like none of it was strange.

And maybe it wasn’t. Not really.

Later that week, things felt normal again. Or maybe just quietly off. Like something was there, just not said. Me and my brother had just finished our shifts. Grabbed a few drinks at the bar near the station. Talked shit about work. Complained about the weather. Nothing about what had happened. Nothing about him.

Just a few nights earlier, I’d stood in the hallway and watched my brother rail a guy. Rough. Relentless. I’d jerked off in my jeans, not even blinking. The same guy messaged me on Grindr two nights later. He didn’t know who I was. And I didn’t tell him.

Out of nowhere, the guy from Grindr was there. Leaning on the bar like he knew we’d show up. Same messy hair. Same lips. Same eyes that had stared up at both of us on different nights. He’d had his tongue around my cock, and just nights earlier, my brother’s cum had been dripping out of him.

He gave us this half-smile, like he was in on a joke we hadn’t heard yet. “You two hanging out now?” the guy said.

We paused. My brother lifted an eyebrow. I gave a slow nod.

“Wanna come back to mine?” the guy said, grinning. “Could get interesting.”

The way he said it made my skin prickle. Like he already knew we would.

My chest tightened. I’d never talked to my brother about being into guys. I wasn’t even sure if he knew I was. And him? I only found out because I saw it. We’d never said anything. Never dared. I glanced at him. He glanced at me. Our faces said more than we ever had. Something passed between us... quiet, unspoken. Not confusion. Not guilt. Just this heavy, shared need.
“Yeah,” I said. “Let’s go.”

His place wasn’t far. A few blocks. The Grindr guy walked ahead like he already knew we’d follow. He didn’t say a word. Neither did we.

Inside was dim and cluttered. Half-empty beer bottles on the table. A jacket on the floor. It smelled like weed, sweat, and something faintly sweet, like old sex. It fit him. Lived-in. Private. Like this wasn’t the first time someone came here without asking questions. He didn’t offer a tour. Just handed us drinks like he’d been expecting us. My brother took his. I held mine. No one clinked glasses. No one made small talk.

The silence didn’t feel awkward. It felt thick....